


The Stories I Tell Are Nonfiction

by Beehiveth (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Beehiveth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that what makes us ourselves is the battles we've fought, both won and lost; but even when we are proud of our current situation, sometimes you just want to erase the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stories I Tell Are Nonfiction

  


**1977**

The first time John notices his family isn’t a safe security blanket to hold on to, he’s 6 and sitting in the back of their rickety, old Peugeot. Harry is 10 and trying to do her grown-up homework when her notebook is suddenly out of her hands and little John feels the belt digs uncomfortably into his clavicle. He watches the other gray car sweep out of the curb and the driver flicking his fingers towards their rear window.  His Dad is trying to keep calm, grip hard on the steering wheel while his Mum berates him for being careless and calls him words so harsh that Harriet has to cover the little boy’s ears, screwing her eyes shut and trying to drown the sounds herself. Arthur Watson gets out of the car in a hurry, slams the door and walks away at a brisk pace, not leaving the safety of the A-45 edges, but not glancing back. They don’t get to Grandma’s that Sunday, and Mum dives them back. It’s the first time that the guest room’s bed gets cleared of plastic knights and Lego bricks. It’s also the first time they hear their Dad cry.

 

**1983**

Harriet Watson is 16 and in her first summer holidays abroad (Santorini, Greece, Johnny’s 12th birthday present) when she comes from the pub to their apartment only to find the car gone, her mother locked in the shared bedroom and John curled up on the living room’s carpet, with their Victrola blasting off David Bowie and scratching one of her vinyl records raw. He tells her dad is trying to get back home. That Mum says he’s cheated on her, but that doesn’t sound like Dad because he’s the one who told them that their house back at Devon was designed by his colleagues for her as their wedding present, that Susan’s favorite smell was lilacs and that that’s why their sock drawers smelled so strange in winter. And later on, when Arthur is back and whatever has been said on the phone has made their parents act like Siamese twins, Harry discovers the lover had been a man. And for the next seven years, she pretends to have a crush on her best male friend, dropping hints of her true sexuality during dinner only to cry herself to sleep after her mother’s cheery, joking voice informs her that were her to be a deviant, she wouldn’t be her daughter anymore.

 

**1984**

The second time their parents announce they are going to get divorced, John goes to Harry’s room to inform her that they’re going to the lawyer’s office next day to discuss the custody with them. Harriet’s bass guitar is near the wardrobe, where obnoxious dark red leather pants are laying in a heap, out of their hanger. John doesn’t want to get to her bed, he’s older now. He wants to go to his records, and his football, and doesn’t know why holding her 17-year-old sister or punching a wall seems more appealing than his own hobbies. He isn’t a weeping child anymore, so he does the latter. The appointment with the family lawyer is cancelled, they spend the next month fussing over John’s broken hand and the whole affair is forgotten. Except there isn’t hurtful bickering at the table anymore. That their Dad doesn’t watch Doctor Who or rambles on about plant species, or architecture, or her mother tells stories about their childhood pets. And nobody’s ever sure why the only sincere looks they give each other are shameful, and across the dinner table on New Year’s Eve.

 

**1985**

It’s Harry’s 18th birthday and she’s packing her bags, clothes, records and letters kept secret until that morning. Susan Watson is not here to see her daughter off, with her history of music career, being offered a place in the LSO as a cellist. Where her lover Clara plays clarinet better than her younger brother and the kettledrums banging along with her pulse drive the thoughts of arguments, homophobia and alcohol away. She’ll miss John, and to some extent, her Dad. But she’s heard enough screaming for a lifetime, so many fears and longing to get away from her personal hell. Arthur Watson’s lanky figure meets her in the threshold, hugging her tightly and wishing her good luck (the I’m still proud of you doesn’t go unnoticed for either of them, neither does the bitter edge their tentative smiles hold); John pats her back rather awkwardly and stands on his toes, placing a chaste kiss to her cheek and scurrying off with the excuse of having to study for his Biology finals. The only farewell she gets from Mrs. Watson is the echo of her insults bouncing from the walls; the hate her eyes held that morning etched upon her brain.

**1994**

John is sitting in a transatlantic plane, on his way to South-Western asia when he wonders if this is his own passive-agressive way of giving himself a second chance at living. Or to give them to others. He wonders what would have happened if his Dad and Mum had parted ways after that argument at the car, if he hadn't grown up making sure his sister played loud enough he could try to ignore the arguments, if his best friend hadn't given him a wide eyed look everytime he came home and his mother had called his father an imbecile or a bastard. If he hadn't realized that was not the normal behavior. He wonders if Bill, the guy sitting next to him has heard about verbal abuse, and if he would consider saving lives a way of coping. He decides that he doesn't care.

But when he nearly bleeds to death in afghan sands, he wishes he would have fled.

 


End file.
